


Love Potion #9

by Swing Set in December (swing_set13)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hijinks, M/M, Magic, True Love, love potions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-03
Updated: 2012-05-03
Packaged: 2017-11-04 18:46:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swing_set13/pseuds/Swing%20Set%20in%20December
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love potions are not to be trifled with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Potion #9

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ranixin](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ranixin).



> I was supposed to be writing Abracadabra, then got distracted because I have the attention span of a goldfish at times. I really do. Un-beta'd so be kind. And comments, I live for them. For [ranixin](http://ranixin.tumblr.com/) because she's awesome. I deem this to be a short three part fic. Yes siree. And OMG I wrote something that isn't an AU!
> 
> Art is by the wonderful [ranixin](http://ranixin.tumblr.com/), because she's amazing.

  


It's the looming Winter Formal that springs the whole mess into action. After seeing everyone lovelorn and blissfully unaware of him, Stiles usual gun-ho attitude dips to a very mercurial melancholy.

Derek of all people comments about it. "You're not yourself." And it surprises Stiles and not just because even after everything, Derek still hasn't grasped the concept of doorbells and announcing one's presence.

"One of these days I'm getting you a bell," mutters Stiles, trying to put his desk back in order after the embarrassing flailing arm dance he seems to do every time Derek appears at his window.

Derek just sprawls himself on the chair in the corner, his back to the wall, and all exits visible. Stiles is just going to ignore the alpha wolf in the room because talking about what's been eating him up with the one guy in town that has more teenage angst that the entire high school is just going to sound whiny. And he's been trying to be more mature about his conversation topics with the alpha, well, at least give the appearance of doing so.

Derek waits with his arms crossed like Stiles will break, but Stiles can keep a secret. His life is secrets. And besides, it's no secret that he's alone.

"So I was thinking about starting endurance training with the guys," he says instead. "They've barely been sweating during lacrosse. Starting to look weird."

Derek's frown is basically Derek-speak for "this isn't over, but I will humor you" and Stiles will take it.

"What do you have in mind?" And Stiles grins and turns to grabs the folder he prepared on a training regime that should be challenging for werewolves, he misses the fond look Derek shoots him and the subtle quirk of the beginnings of a smile.

\---

After Derek left, a whole three hours later of greasy pizza, Mountain Dew and arguing the merits of the Star Wars trilogies, Stiles knows he should sleep. Derek even strongly implied that he should. In that gruff deadpan of his where his eyebrows do most of the talking.

But he's too keyed up so he spends another hour on the internet. After two AM, everything starts looking like a good idea, the love spells detailed out in not one but two Supernatural forums and a Harry Potter tumblr hold some tragic allure. He basically tears out the guts of the idea of the spell. Love's desire and all that rot. Maybe he'll even get a second glance from Lydia. Or Danny. Or anyone.

He finds some sidewalk chalk in the kitchen's junk drawer and sketches a hasty pentagram on the dining room table and scavenges the rest of the ingredients from their spice rack, making enough noise to wake up his dad if he wasn't out on patrol. 

The words are simple. The bright pink mixture is mostly leftover Kool-Aid and Mountain Dew from when Derek was over and some tea leaves. It tastes like a curse word. The candle burns out in a plume of pink smoke, making Stiles sneeze. He waits a beat, for something to feel different. But the kitchen clock only ticks by like Stiles didn't just pull his heart out on his sleeve.

  


"It was worth a try," he mutters under his breath, ignoring the catch in his chest. He yawns fuzzily before deciding to worry about the cleaning up the mess tomorrow. Well, in a couple of hours. A couple of hours won't make a difference. He'll still be woefully single.

He tramps up the stairs in disgust.

The clock stops as the pentagram glows a reddish hue burning the computer paper still lying on the table in a pink flame before dissapearing. Wax and all. The table as pristine as before. The clock begins again, seven minutes out of sync.


End file.
